The Wedding
by microgirl
Summary: The real wedding and the real vows don’t happen on the day of the formal social event...GSR


_The Wedding_

_Spoilers: The Case of Cross-Dressing Carp_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone in regards to CSI; the show and its characters belong to a bunch of people who aren't me. I am merely borrowing the characters for my own amusement. Dance puppets, dance._

_Author's Note: It's been a while since I've posted anything, but I'm back! With all of the doom surrounding this week's episode, I figured a good dose of fluff would be in order._

_But none of this would be possible without EllipsesBandit and her kung-fu beta magic; she the best._

_The following excerpts come from Robert Fulghum's "It Was Fire When I Lay Down On It."_

* * *

…_The real wedding and the real vows don't happen on the day of the formal social event._

_There comes a time, usually some days after the proposal and acceptance…and the setting of the date and all the rest, when there is a conversation between two people in love, when they are in earnest about what they've agreed to do. The conversation happens over several days-even weeks._

* * *

"We could find a chapel and get married tonight." 

At her raised eyebrows Grissom quickly added, "You know…if you wanted."

Sara couldn't help but grin; the way his mouth twitched and his blue eyes searching her own brown ones made him too adorable when he was nervous.

"We could. But then there's the decision of being married by Elvis or E.T."

The queen size bed didn't seem like a wise investment as there was at least several inches of unoccupied space behind them. They lay on their sides facing each other, chests pressed together and limbs entangled--not a sliver of space between them.

He chuckled lightly. "I was thinking of something more subdued. What do you want?"

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought of a wedding with Grissom before. Nothing in those fantasies though included tacky Las Vegas chapels with cheesy music and stained carpeting. But that didn't mean she wanted a fancy wedding with eight bridesmaids and a flight of doves at the end of the ceremony.

After some hesitation, she offered a shy smile. "I'd like it to be outside; by the lake or at the park." She took a deep breath, and continued quietly, "And I'd also want a few people there."

"Who did you have in mind?"

"If we planned it for a week or so from now, do think your mom could be here on such short notice?"

Even in the dim light of the bedroom, she could see his aquarian eyes soften as his arms tightened around her. "She'd be here."

"I'd like our friends there too; Greg, Jim, Nick, Catherine, and Warrick, and Al."

Now it was her turn to be nervous; she knew he wasn't one to share his private life.

But he'd nodded slightly after only a moment of thought. "I like that." He ran his fingers through her hair. "And there will be real flowers."

Sara closed her eyes as she snuggled closer to kiss his chin. "But no bees," she whispered against his dimple.

* * *

_It's a conversation about promises, homes, family…possessions, jobs, dreams, rights concessions, money, personal space, and all the problems that might arise from all those things._

* * *

"Hey, it's two in the afternoon. What are you still doing up?" 

Grissom merely looked up with a weary expression, and sighed. He sat at the dining room table surrounded by stacks of files, papers, and various books and journals.

While moving to swing shift gave her the sunlight she'd needed, Sara sorely missed turning over in bed and bumping into Grissom's big warm body. On her night off, she looked forward to falling asleep curled up to his chest. She only went to bed after a promise that he would soon follow, but she had woken up to cool sheets on his side.

He gestured to the chaos on the table. "I've been working on this bee situation, and none of my observations make sense," he said frustratingly. "The symptoms aren't consistent with any known disease or the effects of a pesticide. I've been researching other environmental factors."

She kneaded his shoulders. "Any luck?"

Rubbing his eyes, he sighed again. "None. And all of the other entomologists I've talked with don't have any ideas either."

Sara said nothing, simply opting to wrap an arm across the front of his shoulders. She pressed her lips to his temple for a long moment.

His hand then went to a rather large stack of folders. "And Ecklie wants all the cases closed within the last month reviewed and signed off."

Gently massaging the curls at the nape of his neck, she hoped to ease a little of his stress. "When do you think you'll be done with all of this?"

"Christmas."

"That soon?"

"I meant Christmas next year." He frowned as he looked up at her. "I'm sorry, honey. I know this your night off. I will be up to bed soon."

"Don't worry about it," she told him soothingly. "If you need to work, then work." She smiled softly at him. "I _know_ you are going to figure out what is going on with the bees."

Grissom's lips lifted upward slightly-just enough to where some of the deep lines around his mouth disappeared. He squeezed her hand.

Sara headed back upstairs, but not before bringing him a cup of green tea and a plate of cookies.

* * *

_And what is promised at that time, in a disorganized, higgedly-piggedly way, is the making of a covenant._

* * *

"You know, we don't have to do this today. I know you have an insect timeline going at the lab; we can do this next week." 

Grissom sighed. "You know how I feel about paperwork, but this is something…" He trailed off, closing his eyes briefly. "It's something we really need to go over, Sara."

She finally nodded after a moment of hesitation, and he took his cue to continue. Opening the folder in front of him, he put his hand on the sheet sitting on top. "This contains all of my bank information: the checking and savings account numbers, statements, and I have written down my online passwords. It's already in my will that these accounts go to your name. You would just call these numbers here." He showed her the sheet, "and you would be able to get the money transferred to your accounts and have mine closed."

He pulled out another folder. "This one contains all of the information on my life insurance policy. My agent's contact information is in here too so all you'd have to do is call him, and he'd start the necessary paperwork.

"You're already named as the sole beneficiary of my policy. The policy will cover funeral arrangements, the house, and the cars, and you could use my savings to pay any balances on the credit cards."

She kept her eyes focused on the sheets on the desk, and answered quietly, "Okay. Is your will in here too?"

He shook his head. "My will has its own folder which is kept right here." He opened the small filing cabinet next to him, and pulled it from the front of the stack. "I signed the release of my body to the UCLA medical school. You'd just contact my lawyer whose phone number is in here, and he'd get in touch with the school. They'd send someone out…" Glancing at her, he found Sara with her arms crossed tightly over her stomach.

"Is that okay with you? I know we wouldn't technically be together after we died." Despite what everyone thought, death wasn't one of his favorite topics and even less so when it came to himself and Sara.

"Just because our…"She stopped as if trying to gather the strength for her next words. "Just because our bodies aren't going to be in the same place doesn't mean our spirits won't be together."

He tried to smile in agreement, but his lips barely twitched. Grissom wanted nothing more than to stay with Sara in whatever life awaited them after this one. But the thought of entering that world alone and leaving her behind left a dull ache in his chest.

Clearing his throat, he shuffled through the files next to him. "The school does allow family members claim the remains at the end of the semester. If something didn't happen to you during that time, and you wanted our ashes to be spread somewhere together…it would be an option."

When she bit her lip and blinked rapidly, he reached for the hand under her elbow, and angled himself toward her chair. Grissom pulled her into his arms where he could briefly set aside the harsher realities of life for the flowery scent of her hair and her warm breath against his neck. Her head remained on his shoulder and her fingers buried in his hair.

After several minutes, he pressed his lips to her ear, and murmured, "You know, you wouldn't have to worry about any more insects in the house; UNLV agreed to take them."

"As long as I get to keep Edgar," she whispered, referring to the tarantula. "And the crickets have to stay 'cause I'll need to feed him."

He just held her tighter.

* * *

_A convenant-an invisible bond of commitment. _

* * *

"So…there was more to me moving to swing shift than what we discussed. I mean, of course I wanted to stop us from getting into any more hot water and I didn't want you to have to leave graveyard. But…" Sara paused. "…there's been something I've been thinking about doing for a while…and I think I can do it now with my new schedule." 

One of the many things Grissom had learned in the last two years was that it was best to jump into the conversation when she started to talk. Otherwise she had a tendency to draw her own conclusions from his silence as proven by some of their previous encounters.

Reaching across the table, he covered her fidgeting hand with his own. "What is it, Sara?"

She drew in a breath. "I…want to teach. Not just at the lab, but I'd like to get into a classroom."

"Really?" he said, the surprise evident in his voice. When she responded with a yes, he asked, "How long have you been thinking about this?"

She shrugged. "It's been in the back of mind for a while now. And with everything that's happened in the last few months, it's…" She paused. "…it's something I'd really like to explore."

The waiter came just then, asking if they wanted dessert. After placing their order, Grissom leaned forward slightly, giving her full attention. "I have to admit I never thought of you as being the head of classroom." That wasn't entirely true; there were certain fantasies of his…

"Neither did I." She chuckled. "Greg inspired me actually."

Grissom cocked his head to the side, waiting for her to go on.

"It was just after he'd been cleared for field work. We were testing some possible blood stains with phenolphthalein and I was going over the chemical make-up and how it works." Sara shook her head in amusement. "He let me go on for a good ten minutes; he's one of the few people who don't mind my rambling lectures."

"Besides me."

"Besides you," she repeated, rubbing her thumb against his palm. "After I had told him about the false positives that can happen, Greg asked if it was possible to get a false negative.

"I had never heard of false negative reactions with pheno. I said I would look into it, and it turns out false negatives can happen; rare, but they do occur. When I told him what I found out, he suggested we conduct our study."

Grissom noticed a brightness in her eyes he hadn't seen in a while, and he could feel his lips tugging upward in response.

"I like being able to share what I know, and I think teaching would give me an opportunity to learn more too." She took a deep breath. "So I was thinking of maybe doing a criminology class or a physics class at the community college." Her teeth immediately caught her bottom lip after she quietly asked, "What do you think?"

"You should do this," he replied simply and sincerely.

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

She breathed a sigh of relief, but he could still feel the tension in her hand. "And if I wanted to quit the lab to teach full-time?"

Grissom had a flash of the two of them becoming professors at the same university, and him knocking a door with a name plate reading "Sara Grissom" with the intention of asking his wife if she was done grading papers and ready to go home.

He smiled. "I would support that completely."

* * *

_Just two people working out what they want, what they believe, what they hope for each other._

* * *

"We still need to pick up broccoli, rice, and cheddar cheese." 

"Then your broccoli cheese casserole is on the menu for this week."

"It is," Sara replied haughtily. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all." Grissom strolled beside her as she pushed the grocery cart along the aisle. "But you've said yourself that you've always made it with cheddar cheese. Have you ever thought of using something else? Parmesan or pepper jack perhaps?"

"Baby, broccoli and cheddar are like peanut butter and jelly or beer and pizza; there are some combinations you don't mess with."

"But variance can keep a recipe from stagnating." There was a faint trace of a smirk on his face. "How do you think they came up with peanut butter and chocolate?"

She chose her annoyance at his being right with dignity and maturity; she shoved the box of rice at him before heading to the dairy section.

They stopped in front of the shelves of cheese where she watched as Grissom made a selection.

"Whoa, whoa. What are you doing?"

His forehead furrowed and his eyes squinted in confusion. He looked down at the brick of cheese in his hand before meeting Sara's gaze. "I'm getting cheese," he stated almost slowly.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. "I know that, but you got the wrong one."

He examined the label before shaking his head. "No, honey." He showed her the package. "It says sharp cheddar."

"But we need medium cheddar."

"No we don't."

"Yes, we do," she gently argued. "I don't like sharp cheddar."

"But it's more flavorful."

Shaking her head, Sara's face twisted in slight disgust. "That's the problem; it's too sharp. It'll completely overpower the freshness of the broccoli."

One of Grissom's eyebrows rose. "But with sharp cheddar you're actually able to taste the cheese."

"I don't want to taste _only_ the cheese." She pointed to the shelf containing her preference. "Medium cheddar has a softer and smoother flavor."

"It blends in with the food. You don't even know the cheese is there."

Sara stared pointedly at him. "Medium is not _that_ bland."

He cocked his head to the side. "All I'm saying is when you add cheese to the casserole that it should complement the other ingredients and enhance the flavor."

Letting a breath out of her nose, she let her hand fall to her side. "We'll just get both. Maybe a mixture of the two will work."

He huffed out a laugh. "You can't mix two different grades of cheddar. It would_completely_ throw off-"

"We'll get swiss then." She promptly tossed the brick into the cart, and started walking with Grissom trailing beside her. "I'll try something new," she grudgingly announced. As much as it pained her to give in, it was a small price to pay to avoid losing another argument.

Stopping before the soda aisle, Sara told him. "I'm going to get some bread. Can you pick up a twelve pack of Coke."

"Sure I'll get some Pepsi, dear.

* * *

_With their eyes, they ask each other if they really mean it, and they do…_

* * *

"What time is it? Is it nine already?" 

"No." Grissom glanced at his watch, and then the brunette hurrying into the house. "It's 8:45."

"Perfect!" Sara set the Gap and Old Navy bags by the dining room table. "There's enough time to throw in another load of laundry before _Boston Medical_ starts," she said as she rushed to the stairs.

"You know the DVR's already set to record it," he called after her.

"I know, but I don't wait for this episode to record. Tonight is the night," she grinned before disappearing to the basement.

"What's happening tonight?" he asked once she was back in the living room.

"Well, after five seasons, Aaron and Maria are finally going to say 'I love you.' Barker is going to be promoted to chief resident, and Eddie and Maggie find out the sex of their babies."

He stared at her blankly. "This show takes place in a hospital?"

"Yes."

"And it revolves around the patients?"

"No Aaron, Maria, Barker, and Maggie are doctors. Eddie is a nurse."

"How many patients do they see?"

"I don't know," she answered, shrugging. "Two or three."

Taking off his glasses, Grissom rested his hand on the back of the couch. "So you watch a medical drama that has very little to do medicine."

She crossed her arms, and huffed out a laugh. "This coming from the PhD entomologist who watches _The Simpsons_: a show about a man who chokes his son, ignores his wife, and markets a trash can as a chiropractic device."

"_The Simpsons_ has unique satirical perspectives on the social and governmental aspects of society."

"Uh huh."

As she started to gather her bags, she heard Grissom offer, "You can watch your show down here."

"Don't worry about it. You're working; I can go upstairs."

"No, no." Grissom closed his laptop. "It's fine. I need to get some books from the upstairs office anyway."

After deciding there wasn't enough time to bring her purchases to their bedroom, Sara settled on the sofa, immediately turning the television to channel 4.

He finished stacking the papers and binders on the coffee table. "I'm going to get a piece of apple crisp. Would you like one?"

At her nod, he headed to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later carrying a bowl. When he handed it to her, Sara discovered with much delight the dessert had been warmed and a scoop of vanilla ice cream to accompany it.

Noticing he'd only had the one bowl with him, she asked, "I thought you were getting a piece too."

"Oh, it was the last one."

She tugged on his hand, and he leaned over, allowing her to press a kiss to his cheek. But as soon as she heard the deep, husky voice of Aaron Hunter, her attention instantly went to the screen.

_I can't remember a time in my life where I haven't been in love with Maria. She needs to know that and I can't wait to tell her._

"Damn right," Sara muttered.

"So this is Doctor McStudly," Grissom deadpanned.

"Shhhhh."

* * *

_And that's it. The wedding is done. All that's left is the public celebration... _

* * *

"So have you thought any more about what we talked about last week?" 

Grissom's eyebrows furrowed as he thought back; which discussion was she referring to? They talked about putting a new sprinkler system in the backyard, where to go on vacation next year, what kind of car he wanted to buy…

"About the dog," she prompted.

There had been discussion about where to put Byron while they went on their honeymoon, his next round of shots, the fact they were running low on dog food…

"Getting Byron a buddy," she said slowly.

Grissom blinked in surprise as if a light bulb had snapped in his head. "Right. We did talk about that."

They continued in silence along the dirt path, with the boxer happily leading the way. The dog would frequently stop to thoroughly sniff a tree or to bark at a vicious squirrel that dared to get within ten feet of the trio.

Sara bumped their shoulders together. "And?"

"I like the idea of getting another dog. And I think Byron would too." Grissom's gaze shifted to the canine whose nose was pressed to the ground as he trotted along, apparently on the trail of another animal. "Someone to keep him entertained."

"As opposed to him entertaining himself with chewing your sandals and digging up the flower beds."

"Exactly."

Moving the leash into his other hand, he glanced over at her. "What kind of dog would you like to get?"

She pursed her lips. "I wouldn't mind getting something smaller."

"I thought you wanted to get Byron a companion, not a chew toy."

Her elbow found its way past his arm, and to his ribs. "I'm not talking about getting a toy poodle or a Chihuahua. I meant something like a Boston terrier. Big dogs and small dogs can get along just fine."

"True. But Byron thinks he is a small dog," Grissom pointed out. Their boxer had no concept of his sixty pound compact frame as shown by the dip in couch from him sitting on the furniture like a cat. Byron also believed he was small enough to slip between Grissom and Sara's legs when they walked upstairs; that wasn't the case as both had managed to trip up the stairs on several occasions.

She nodded in concession. "Well, what kind of dog have you been thinking about?"

"A lab or a golden retriever. Maybe another boxer. Something that he won't crush or break."

"We'll look up some breeds when we get home," she suggested. "Then we can maybe take a look at what the puppy rescue has this Saturday."

"Honey, the size…"

"A puppy doesn't stay small forever, and they would snap at him if he got too rough. And there wouldn't be the territorial issues if we got an older dog. I just think a puppy would have enough energy to actually wear him out."

Byron stopped suddenly, wagging his tail in triumph as he found what he had been looking for: the ever elusive Milky Way wrapper.

Discovering there were no remnants of the sweet didn't deter the boxer; he stood proud by his prey, panting happily as he waited for the recognition he deserved.

Grissom rubbed the furry ears causing the dog to lap at his fingers. "No matter what we choose, I'm sure Byron will appreciate teaching someone his superior trailing skills."

* * *

_I know this sounds like heresy-that the Church Fathers might not agree. But if you are married, you know it's true._

* * *

"How hard is it to walk six feet? Can't be that difficult. It's just an extra five seconds. I'm sure he can spare an extra five seconds out of his busy schedule." 

Sara continued to grumble as she picked up the pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. The past shift had been spent crouched down, documenting and collecting bullets from a gang shoot out; all she wanted was to sink in a steamy hot bubble bath with a pint of cookie dough ice cream.

But that wasn't happening.

As soon as she pulled into the driveway, Sara noticed the yard hadn't been mowed…which she'd reminded Grissom to do at least three times that week. She started seething when she saw the full garbage cans still sitting in the garage; the trash was supposed to be picked up that morning. And now her heart rate had reached eighty at finding his dirty clothes piled on the bathroom floor. To top it all off the hamper was full; he hadn't done any laundry.

"What the hell did he do all damn day?" she muttered, coming out of the bedroom.

Her heavy steps thudded against the wooden floor as she made her way to the basement. Anger continued to fuel her movements as the clothes slapped against the metal of the washing machine while she loaded the appliance. When Sara came across his blue Hawaiian shirt, she had serious thoughts of sending it through the washer with a brand new pair of red socks.

Not having the energy (or the time) to cook something substantial, Sara decided to have a bowl of cereal for dinner. However, when she entered the kitchen she discovered her small crock-pot sitting on the counter: the appliance she relied on for most of her college years and throughout her career. It was one piece of kitchenware she refused to give up, even though Grissom already owned everything advertised in a Williams-Sonoma catalog.

Opening the lid, she discovered a steamy portion of the vegetarian chili that he had made a few days earlier; she apparently missed the aromatic smell completely when she first walked into the house. She replaced the lid and found a note sitting next to the crock-pot.

_There's grated cheese in the 'fridge and some fresh bread next to the bread box. There is also a lunch for you to take to work. I'll walk the dog when I get home. Try to get some sleep._

Her frustration melted somewhat as she took her meal to the table. More of the irritation slipped away the following afternoon, when, before work, she found her lunch consisted of tofu stir fry. As she pulled into the lab parking lot, Sara received a text message from Grissom that made her smile at everyone as she walked inside; even Hodges.

_Hi, honey. Be careful and have a good day. I love you._

* * *

_That's why I always tell couples to pay attention to what's going on in that talking time before the Big Day. They wouldn't want to miss their own wedding._

The End


End file.
